Chapter Text
Jack was already loosening his tie as he made his way up the walk. It was later than he’d hoped to be finishing his day. Somehow reports always took longer than he anticipated.
When he opened the door he was struck by the quiet. It wasn’t unexpected but it was unusual enough to catch his notice. He hung up his hat and overcoat and headed straight to his room to remove his suit jacket. He carefully checked to see if it required laundering before hanging it in the wardrobe. He stripped the tie from around his neck, undid a button or two from the collar of his dress shirt and rolled up his sleeves.
It had always been his habit to immediately shed his uniform at the end of the day (he still thought of his wardrobe as a uniform even though he had long since traded the blue wool and brass buttons of a beat officer for the three-piece suits of a Detective Inspector) but after the move, it had taken awhile before he felt comfortable enough to fall back into these old routines.
He wasn’t entirely sure when it had happened but he clearly remembered his hesitation in the early days. For that first month, perhaps longer, he’d kept his suit and tie on for the entire evening—or at least until she decided he’d worn it long enough—whichever came first.
He paused in the hallway outside her door on his way back downstairs, listening carefully. Hearing no movement inside he assumed she was sleeping. It was routine for her to have a kip before a planned night out. He was tempted to peek in but didn’t want to wake her. She’d earned the rest.
It had been a rough couple of weeks with frustrating days turning into long nights. No one was more dedicated when on a case than Phryne and she continued to prove herself an invaluable partner to him. His initial fears that the change in their personal relationship might have ill effect on their working one had long since been proved unfounded. They were still as in sync as they’d always been, maybe even more so.
He continued on his way knowing she’d see his coat on the rack and find him to say goodnight before she left. She always did.
Downstairs he found his supper in the warmer and helped himself. Even rewarmed it was delicious and so much better than what he’d have thrown together after arriving home late. He wasn’t a bad cook and enjoyed taking his time over preparations on occasion but in the past late suppers had been about filling the void as quickly as possible. More often than not that meant a cheese sandwich or whatever else he could pull from the icebox and consume without much effort.
Tonight’s treat was a deliciously braised beef stew with plenty of root vegetables and onion. He took his time over it, sopping up the extra bits with a lovely crusty bread. Once done he did a quick wash-up of the dishes.
He always did this, no matter how many time Mr. Butler requested he leave them. Jack felt it was the very least he could do to show the man his appreciation. Once the kitchen was tidy, he settled into his chair with a good book and a neat whisky.
Again, the comforting feeling of being home came over him and he wondered just when this place had become that for him. They'd jumped into things with both feet, as was her way, and by then he'd learned that where she led he would follow.
Despite his early doubts, he’d never regretted the decision, not even in those first, somewhat awkward days. Now he could hardly imagine there’d ever been another way to live. The arrangement suited them well without inhibiting their dissimilar lifestyles the way he’d once feared it might.
Tonight was a good example. After a case like this last one they both needed time to clear their heads but that effort took very different forms. Where he liked to have a quiet night in, reading or listening to music, she preferred the stimulation of a night on the town. After a misstep or two of one trying to accommodate the other, they’d settled into a more compatible routine of each to his (or her) own.
Jack found his place in the book, his mind drifting briefly to hours from now when he hoped she’d wake him upon her return home.
Before long he heard her coming down the stairs, humming quietly to herself. He must have been unconsciously listening for her because he’d just read half a page of his book without taking anything in. It didn’t surprise him anymore, the way his mind remained always on the alert for her. He shook out the cobwebs and started the page over again.
“Jack!” She called from the hallway, “have you seen my...”
“On the table, by the telephone,” he called back.
“No, I already looked there.”
“Under your gloves.”
“Oh! So they are.”
Her heels clicked on the tile, the sound growing closer. He looked up from his book to find her standing in the doorway, holding up the car keys like a prize and beaming at him.
“Thank you, darling.”
“Happy to help,” he said.
“Did you get your supper?”
“I did. How many times must I tell that man he needn’t bother. I can fend for myself on occasion.”
“He enjoys his night off more if he knows you’re taken care of.”
“I am. Very well, as it happens. You look lovely, by the way.”
She smiled again and shimmied her hips making the fringe of her dress sway, the beads catching the light and sparkling.
“Enjoy yourself tonight,” he said, nodding his approval.
“I intend to,” she said, but made no effort to depart. She leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms in front of her, watching him. He knew that look and felt his pulse quicken. She stepped into the room, crossing to him and running a hand lightly through his hair.
He set the book in his lap, his finger marking his page, and lifted his eyes to her. Her hand came around and caressed his cheek, her gaze soft as it roamed over his features. It still made his stomach drop when she looked at him like that.
“What are your plans?” She asked.
“As you see,” he said, lifting the book slightly from his lap. “I thought I’d finish this and then make an early night of it.”
“Or, you could join me,” she said.
“Dancing?” He said, as if she’d suggested he grow another head.
“It’s not as if you don’t know how,” she laughed.
“Maybe another time. I’ve gotten rather settled in tonight,” he said.
“You do look cosy. Would you like me to stay?”
“You know that I always enjoy your company but you said you needed the night out. And you’ve already got yourself all dressed up.”
She shrugged as if none of that mattered. He grasped her hand and brought it to his lips.
“Go dancing, sweetheart. Have a good time.”
She took the book from his hand and laid it open on the table to keep his place then slid into his lap, her arms encircling his neck.
“There’s more than one kind of dancing.”
Her kiss was soft and full of promise. His hands spread over her back, one sliding up to her neck to hold her to him.
“Now you’ve gone and smeared your lipstick,” he said, once he could speak again.
“Worth it,” she said. She pulled a handkerchief from her décolletage and gently cleaned his face. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay? I hate to leave you here all alone.”
“You know that I don’t mind,” he said. “What’s this about, Phryne? You’ve been looking forward to your night out.”
“Yes. I was. I should have left without looking in on you. There’s something about you in that chair, looking so content, that I find irresistible tonight.”
“Well, disrupting my peace has always been a favorite pastime of yours,” he said, “not that I’m complaining.”
His eyes wandered down to the daring dip of her neckline. He ran his hands slowly along her sides, the rough beads of the dress a contrast to her soft curves. The fringe of the skirt had fallen away leaving her knees and a generous amount of her thighs on display.
He remembered the dress from early in their acquaintance. He also remembered the way he’d warmed at the sight of her in that smoky dancehall that night.
She’d been standing over the victim. A look of pure innocence on her face even as her body in that dress screamed sin incarnate. It fit her as well today as it had that night, possibly better. Or maybe he only thought that because now he knew what lie underneath.
He hadn’t allowed himself the thought that first night but now he could, so he let his mind drift to her darkened boudoir, his hands pushing the straps from her shoulders. Gravity would take over then and to do its work, evidenced by a satisfying crescendo of beads hitting the floor. Her bared shoulders would call out to him and he'd close his eyes, concentrating on the flavor of her skin and the curve of her neck under his lips.
His face must have telegraphed his thoughts because her breath was coming faster now. He barely contained the urge to stand and carry her upstairs this instance, strip her bare and satisfy the carnal need that was fast building in him.
“You should go, while you still can,” he said, his voice gruff and raspy.
“Is that a threat, Inspector?”
“More a warning, Miss Fisher. Remain much longer and your lipstick won’t be the only casualty.”
“That’s not a warning, Jack. That’s waving a red rag at a bull.”
“What do you think that dress is?”
“This dress?” She asked, innocently. She rose from his lap and stood directly before him to ensure he had a good view. “If it’s such a bother...”
She pushed the straps from her shoulders and, just as in his imagination, the dress slipped easily to the floor. She stepped out from it and turned, walking slowly toward the door, clearly expecting him to follow. She’d only made it a few steps when he grabbed hold of her arm and spun her back around, pulling her to him and crushing his mouth against hers for a long breathless kiss and rather undignified grope.
“Upstairs,” he gasped as his lips ravished her neck.
“Too far away,” she said.
She pushed him from her and lifted the camisole over her head, tossing it aside and then shimmied out of her tap pants. He glanced up briefly to confirm that Mr. Butler had had the foresight to draw the curtains—bless that man— then allowed his eyes and hands to indulge themselves while she worked at divesting him of his waistcoat.
Braces were pushed from his shoulders, fingers deftly worked at buttons until she could lay her hot little hands directly on his skin.
She moved on to his waistband, forcing him backward until his legs hit the side of the chaise. Eager to catch up with her he started to help with his clothing but she pushed his hands away making him laugh. She’d told him often enough that she enjoyed unwrapping him like a present. Sometimes, her efforts were torturously slow and sensuous and led to long, delicious hours of love making.
Then there were nights like tonight, when she was so eager and determined it made him dizzy with need. Her enthusiasm and obvious desire for him was enough to leave him weak at the knees. Well that, and the rapid rush of blood from his brain to other, greedier locales.
Before he knew it he was stripped bare and being pushed back onto the chaise lounge. She crawled over him, straddling his lap. The promise of the wet heat at her core made him lift his pelvis impatiently. His hands were on her hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh just below the base of her spine. He closed his eyes and let his head drop back as she rocked back and forth, using him for her own pleasure. Keeping his eyes closed he let his hands roam over her. Her rounded hips, the soft swell of her stomach, supple breasts. She sighed and arched her back as he rolled a nipple gently between his thumb and forefinger. And then her hands were on him, stroking him to an almost painful stiffness, before guiding him home.
With a feral growl he arched up off the seat, settling firmly and deeply inside her. She fell forward, wrapping her arms around his neck, her hand forcing his head up, making him look at her as she pressed her chest to his.
“There,” she sighed, nose to nose, eyes locked. “Just as you prefer, Inspector. Slow and close.”
“I regret to inform you that slow is out of the question, Miss Fisher.”
Her joyous laugh was abruptly cut short as the air rushed from her lungs.
“You know,” he said, his hand drifting slowly over her back, “I imagined something very much like that the first time I saw you in that dress.”
“When was that?”
She lifted her head from his chest and looked up at him questioning. Her body shifted slightly and he gripped her tighter to keep her from slipping off the chaise.
“You had just finished pillaging the pockets of the distasteful and very recently deceased Leonard Stevens.”
“But, we’d only just met!”
“Yes, but I don’t see what that has to do with anything. You said yourself you enjoyed having an effect on a man.”
She smiled up at him. He could always tell that she was pleased when he casually referred to something she’d said in passing, long ago. She seemed surprised that he’d remember. He found that charming but ridiculous. He remembered everything.
“I do enjoy having an effect, but I have to know about it first! You never let on,” she said.
“Don’t be absurd. Of course I did.”
“Back then? Hardly. Just how quickly did my charms begin to work on you?”
They'd had similar conversations before but she never seemed to tire of them. And he'd discovered that he'd fallen in love with her so many times over the years that they could continue having variations on this discussion ad infinitum.
“I think I can trace it back to when you said you’d have to find a way around any laws you didn’t like. I had no doubt that you would do just that.”
“And you found that attractive?”
“What can I say? I like a determined woman.”
“Yes,” she agreed, “and I’ve always liked that about you. You’re a rare man, Jack Robinson.”
“I’m a lucky man, Miss Fisher.” He kissed her on the nose and swatted her bottom. “Now, get up and get dressed.”
“What? Why?”
“We’re going dancing.”
“But I don’t...wait. Did you say ‘we’?”
“If your earlier invitation still stands.”
“Of course it does, but you don’t have to do this, Jack.”
“I know I don’t have to. I want to.”
“Truly?” she asked skeptically
“Is it so hard to believe that a man might want to take his wife dancing?” He laughed. “If so I've been too neglectful. Put that dress back on and let’s head to The Green Mill where you will be left in no doubt of how much you affect me. How much you have always affected me. But, can I suggest we skip the dead body this time?”